Into the Pensieve: McGonagall
by insaneflautist
Summary: A look at McGonagall's pensive.


Into the Pensieve: McGonagall 

*Disclaimer* The events and people depicted in this fanfiction are the property of J. K. Rowling. I just wish they were mine. 

She had stared distrustfully at the stone basin. Professor Dumbledore– no, Albus, she was his coworker now– had given it   
to her with little explanation, except that he provided all the teachers with one on their first day. It was a Pensieve, he   
had explained, to contain all your excess thoughts, memories, and emotions. She had accepted it hesitantly, and now she   
was even more hesitant to use it; it made her feel vulnerable, putting the emotions she normally bottled up inside her   
into a bowl where anyone could look at them at their leisure. However, she took a deep breath and brushed her wand to her   
temple, drawing out a silvery string that she placed in the basin where it swirled delicately. A memory. 

********************************************************* 

A child was sitting on the edge of a bed, holding the hand of its occupant. The young woman was struggling to speak to   
the little girl, her usually brilliant green eyes dull and unfocused with pain. 

"Take care of your brother and father," she said, her voice void of the merriment it had always held. "You must always be   
the strong one, the wise one, my little Minerva." The six-year-old was solemn, absorbing every word that struggled to   
escape the woman's faltering lips, and she nodded. 

"Promise, Minerva," the woman gasped. 

"I promise," the little girl said with conviction. "I promise, forever and always." The woman put forth a tremendous   
amount of effort and managed two last words. 

"Don't forget." 

Then her head fell, landing softly on the pillow and scattering her light brown hair across its whiteness. No breath   
passed from her lips and the only noise in the room was the soft whimpering of the newborn baby that had cost the   
woman her life. 

"I promise, Mama. I will be strong." 

~~~~~~~~Next Memory~~~~~~~~ 

The young girl woke early, as always, her green-gray eyes meeting the light of morning as it crept over her windowsill.   
She stood, tidied her bed, put on a clean dress, and hurried quietly downstairs to begin breakfast. 

Her hands moved deftly and swiftly, mixing and stirring ingredients with the grace of one who has had years of   
experience.Fingers measured pinches of sugar and flour in precise amounts. She washed up the dishes and placed them   
neatly in cupboards, then took the pans out of the oven, revealing golden-brown muffins– strawberry, Moriarty's favorite.   
Placing them on the table, she snuck one into her pocket and slipped out the door. 

The hills were green with grass and wet with dew, but the girl payed no heed as she walked briskly down the well-worn   
path. She removed the slightly squashed muffin from her pocket and munched on it as she went along, her footsteps   
thudding at the same quick pace, never slowing. At last, an overgrown gate came into view, padded with Ejecting spells   
that would remove even the most persistent trespassers. Her father had put them up the day after her mother died, the   
day he retreated to his workshop. Minerva had only seen him twice in the five years that had passed since then. 

She took the letters from the impatiently waiting owls, as well as the ones the Muggle postman had left lying in the   
mailbox, and began the journey back up the road, sifting through the envelopes slowly. Suddenly, her heart began to   
race– there was a letter addressed to her! Excited, she broke into a jog, still clinging tightly to the stack of   
mail. When she got to the house, she dumped the other letters on the table and forced herself to open her own envelope   
neatly and correctly, using a letter-opener. The pieces of paper that fell from the wrapping were even more exciting   
to Minerva: she had been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! Her little brother, now five, came   
in to investigate and she swooped him up in a huge hug, to which he wrinkled his nose and squirmed away. She was going   
to be a witch! 

~~~~~~~~New Memory~~~~~~~~~ 

The tall, dark-haired boy stood towering over the smaller first-year girl. He narrowed his eyes, which glimmered with   
something that few recognized as true malice. His long, pale fingers curled into tight fists. The very air around him   
seethed with barely-contained anger that was somehow more fierce than that of most people. One hand slipped into his   
cloak for his wand, which he brandished menacingly, and his lips parted. "Cr–" 

"Riddle!" snapped a female voice. He spun around, pocketing his wand in the same movement. A girl stood there, green-gray   
eyes full of suspicion. The silver Prefect badge pinned to the front of her robes caught in the light, and Tom quickly   
assumed what Minerva thought of as the "fake" Tom Riddle: polite and helpful– and innocent. But it was too late. She had   
seen the fury in his eyes, the rage that trembled in every muscle of his body. The only thing she hadn't seen,   
unfortunately, was any aberration in the school rules. 

She motioned for the first-year to continue on her way and the girl did so, looking relieved but still frightened. Then   
she turned back to Riddle. 

"I'm warning you, Tom Riddle, if I ever see you put one toe out of line..." She shook her head and stalked off. However,   
she only got a few paces away before Tom grabbed her arm tightly and spun her around to face him. 

"No, I think you are the one who should be careful of whose toes you tread on, Miss McGonagall. Someday you may regret it."   
With that, he left, glancing back once with the peculiar glimmer in his eyes. 

Minerva shivered. 

~~~~~~~~New Memory~~~~~~~~ 

Red eyes. The girl opened her own green-gray eyes, awakening from a terrifying dream. "What was that all about?" she   
whispered. She shook her head, as if dismissing the thought, and climbed hesitantly from her bed, preparing herself   
for the school day. As she brushed her hair, she held her usual morning conversation with her mirror. 

"This must have been the first day since I've been at Hogwarts that I didn't want to get up." 

"Are you sure about that, dearie?" the mirror wheezed. 

"Well, aside from the day Moriarty made me sprout semi-permanent fur on my face and hands." The mirror chuckled   
hoarsely at the memory. 

Indignantly, the girl said, " It fell out in a week. But this is different, and not a joking matter! This is my last   
day at Hogwarts." 

The mirror tutted sadly, then said, "You'd better hurry, dearie, or you'll be late for the train." The girl nodded, then   
turned and hurried out of her room, pressing her fingers one final time to the brass plate with "Head Girl" written on   
it. "Luck," she whispered. She beckoned to her school trunks, which floated obediently after her as she descended the   
many moving staircases and finally stepped out the front doors into pouring rain. 

She stood under the dampened mass of umbrellas that covered the large cluster of students already gathered on the   
front lawn. Suddenly, someone spoke very near to her ear, making her visibly jump. "Good old English weather, isn't   
it?" 

"Professor Dumbledore, you startled me! But yes, this is typical of England." And fitting, she thought. It's entirely   
fitting that it rain on one of the saddest days of my life. The whistle of the Hogwarts train blew, and she waved her   
hovering school trunks onto the cargo compartment. She started to board the train, then changed her mind, raced back to   
Professor Dumbledore, and hugged him tightly around the neck. "Goodbye, Professor." 

"Goodbye, Miss McGonagall. Drop me an owl to let me know how you're doing when you get the chance." 

"Yes, sir." She ran onto the train, not looking back at the place she would always think of as home. 

************************************************* 

She stood at the stone basin. Albus had given it to her with little explanation, except that he provided all the teachers   
with one on their first day. It was a Pensieve, he had explained, to contain all your excess thoughts, memories, and   
emotions. She had accepted it hesitantly, but now never hesitated to use it; it relieved her mind, putting the emotions   
she normally bottled up inside her into a bowl where she could review them at them at their leisure. She took a deep   
breath and brushed her wand to her temple, drawing out a silvery string that she placed in the basin where it swirled   
delicately. A memory. 


End file.
